


Consolidation and Insomnia

by Lt_Cmdr_Scribbler



Series: Inconveniently Emotional Insomniacs [1]
Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic
Genre: Gen, Oneshot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-02
Updated: 2016-03-02
Packaged: 2018-05-24 08:26:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6147646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lt_Cmdr_Scribbler/pseuds/Lt_Cmdr_Scribbler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ronadia Zhang is anxious and an insomniac. Thankfully, her newest crewmate seems like one too.</p><p>Fideltin Rusk thinks he might just enjoy his newest posting. His commander seems like an insomniac, so at least they have something in common.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Consolidation and Insomnia

**Author's Note:**

> Post-Hoth, but Pre-Emperor's Fortress.

The flight from Tython to Imperial Space was long, and boring. Ronadia wanted to be down in the cargo hold, with her training equipment, except that was probably where Sergeant Fideltin Rusk has situated himself. The Chagrilan was... intense, to say the least. Devoted to the Republic, very efficient in calculating the odds they had to beat. Nothing like Doc, Rona mused, nothing at all. Where Doc was flighty, Rusk was stable. Where Doc was a walking innuendo, Rusk was professional and supportive. However, there were two sides to that credit chit. Where Doc wanted to save all the innocents he could, Rusk fought for the bigger picture; What was the sacrifice of the few to the salvation of the many? Rona absolutely hated that she was comparing them. Besides, she didn't even know how _old_ Rusk was. She shouldn't be getting awkward about a situation that would never happen.

However, Rona almost did decide to lock herself up in her quarters until they reached the Emperor's Fortress in order to avoid her crew. It probably wasn't healthy, but Rona didn't particularly care about her social health in this given moment. Doc was in the medbay, _not_ her quarters. 

Ronadia had thought that she would be safe sneaking out of her room at 2300 hours, when any sane person would be asleep. Apparently, both herself and Sergeant Rusk were the exception to the rule. He was standing in the galley, holding a cup of what smelled suspiciously like caff. He wasn't wearing his plated armour from Hoth, and Rona had to double-take at how tall he looked when he wasn't weighed down by the armour and the enormous plasma cannon. The usual Chagrilan horns emerging from his head probably didn't help matter.

Rusk almost choked on his caff when he finally noticed Rona leaning against the galley doorway. Rona smiled a little ruefully, and she gave the sergeant a little two-finger salute as she walked slowly into the galley. "Evening, Sergeant Rusk. Fancy seeing you here."

Rusk almost put his cup down to salute her, but Rona just chuckled quietly. "S'alright, Sergeant. Ship's Rule No. 3: No saluting after 2100."

Was Rona seeing things, or did Sergeant Fideltin Rusk just smile at her? At least it seemed to be an icebreaker, and he actually seemed like he wanted to talk.

"Master Jedi, I-" Rusk took a deep breath, and his low voice was more steady. "I'm aware that my recent military record might... raise some concerns. I want to reassure you that my squad fatality rates have not consistently been this high."

Pushing a mug of water into the micro-heater, Rona keyed in the amount of time needed to make the water hot enough for efficient tea-making. She turned to look at him with an arched eyebrow and blank brown eyes. "You didn't start out losing each of your squads? That's good to hear."

Rusk narrowed his eyes a little, and Rona sighed. She held her forehead in her hands. _Get a grip. He's a soldier, don't snark at him._ "I'm sorry, Sergeant, that was rude."

"Apology accepted, Master Jedi," replied Rusk.

It was awkwardly silent for another moment, but to Rona's surprise, he continued the conversation without any prompting. "Actually, the first squad I commanded after making sergeant was sent to free POWs being held at a small Imperial outpost. Intel said the place would be lightly manned. Most of the Imperials wouldn't arrived for another twenty-four hours. Intel was wrong."

Rona scowled. Bad intel was more than often falsely-planted intel, but now wasn't the time for that. "I assumed you got more than you bargained for out there."

He nodded slowly. "The Imperials sent their reinforcements a day early. When my squad broke into the outpost, we were outnumbered ten-to-one. We were out-gunned and out-manned, but we achieved our objective, freed all the POWs, and came out alive. My squad's casualty rate was ninety-seven point four percent, but we had no fatalities." He looked very proud of that, and Rona couldn't help but smile.

"No offense to your squad," she started cautiously, "but it's impressive that anybody got out alive with those odds."

Rona couldn't tell why, but that got a smile out of Rusk again. "No offense taken, Master Jedi. They were good soldiers. Far better than any of the others I've had under my command. Our mission was accomplished without permanent loss of Republic resources. That squad was effectively trained, and as a result, we achieved victory much more efficiently."

Rona withdrew her mug from the micro-heater with the insulation of a hand-towel, and dropped a bag of peach tea into it. She raised her glass to the Sergeant, commenting, "They must have been some extremely remarkable soldiers."

Rusk nodded low, appreciating the gesture of respect. "They are. Good soldiers are a resource. Yes, their loss damages the war effort, but they are meant to be used. Victory for the Republic is worth any cost."

"An odd sentiment," Rona gave her input. "While it is true that victory can be valuable, it always depends on the cost. I would not have considered it a complete victory if you had not survived our escapade on Hoth, and I will not consider it a complete victory if we lose what we are in defeating the Emperor and his Empire."

"An interesting thought, Master Jedi."

"Please, Rusk, call me Rona," she gently corrected with a smile. "Computer, abridgement to Ship's Rule No. 3: No honorifics after 2100."

The toneless voice of the ship’s computer replied, "Abridgement saved."

Rona scooped the now-spent tea-bag out of her mug with a spoon and gently dropped it into the disposal. She could feel the awkwardness growing more potent with each moment of silence, but she had to have a process to keep the nervousness at bay. She took a sip of her tea to hide for a moment more, and then made eye-contact with Rusk. "On that note... may I call you Fideltin? I mean, not when we're in the field or on a mission, I know, but when we're... alone, like this." Rona gestured between them vaguely. "It's a nice name, and I'm really not into surnames as a way of identification."

Ronadia honestly did expect Fideltin to choke on his caff at this point. "I- I don't- I mean, I don't mind, Mast- _Ronadia_."

Ronadia strictly reminded herself not to giggle at his hasty correction.

"It's just that... It's almost like being someone else, being known by my first name."

"I know. My aunt and uncle are soldiers, so they use last names in the field and first names exclusively at home." Rona smiled at a distant memory. "I remember Aunt Cal'edra insisting that it was easier to keep her maiden name because she didn't want to have the cliche moment where someone calls out her husband's surname and they would both respond."

It hit Rusk then, how young the Hero of Tython looked, wearing white and orange sweats and holding a mug of peach tea. The blue smudges above her eyes signified that she hadn't remembered to remove the minimal makeup she'd been wearing. That most likely meant that she hadn't actually slept since she awoke this morning to report to the Jedi Council, despite all the time she was spending in her quarters. She still looked as powerful as she had in that Hoth wasteland, with glowing purple sabers drawn and her brown hair whipping in the wind. Now, though, she looked tired and just unsure. Not unprepared, but just a little... lost. Like she needed someone to have her back.

"Fideltin is just fine, Rona."


End file.
